


When You Run, Run to Something and Not Away From

by DeliberateMisspelling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Drabble, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeliberateMisspelling/pseuds/DeliberateMisspelling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek saw it coming, so he's not really sure why he didn't bother to prepare better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Run, Run to Something and Not Away From

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many half-finished drabbles, I have to start posting some of them. Mostly they start out as ideas for much, much larger fics and then I lose the willpower to plot them out properly, and they wind up on my hard drive collecting figurative dust. I have vague ideas of expanding this? Mostly with a lot of Stiles is The Worst (For Reasons) and Derek is Stoic until they Get Their Shit Together, but for now it definitely needs to be tagged unhappy ending.
> 
> Title from The Avett Brothers' "The Weight of Lies"
> 
> Concrit always welcome!

“I just—It’s too much. I’m leaving, we’re all moving on, and so much terrible shit has happened here and I just... want to put it behind me,” Stiles’ stumbles out, staring at a point somewhere off in the middle distance just over the all wrong line of Derek’s shoulders against the setting sun.

Derek breathes out for what feels like the first time since Stiles finally, _finally_ started talking after dragging Derek out to the Lookout with the vague insistence of “something important.”

And it is, important, being unceremoniously dumped, but it isn’t like Derek wasn’t expecting it. Stiles is right:  everyone is moving on, even if only a few are outright skipping town. Derek knew from the minute the whole thing started that he wouldn’t get to keep it, that it wasn’t really _his._ Stiles never belonged to him, or anybody else, and he never would and Derek _knew_ that. So all he can do is breath out and try to resettle his shoulders so the ache that’s taken up residence in the base of his skull will dissipate.

“Okay,” Derek manages tonelessly, curling his fingers around the cuffs of his father’s old leather jacket that’s still just a hair too big for him.

“Okay?” Stiles blinks, peering at Derek like he was hoping for a different reaction. Derek is fooling himself; Stiles might’ve prepared himself for something else, some impulsive emotional outburst, but a clean break with as little collateral damage as possible was all he was going to get.

“Yeah,” Derek nods loosely, his head bobbling on his neck for a half-second too long, “I figured.”

Derek doesn’t have to explain that because Stiles is putting this whole town in his rearview, and “I just want to put it behind me,” translates exactly to: “I just want to put _you_ behind me.” Which, Derek will be the first to admit, makes more than a little bit of sense.

“Okay,” Stiles repeats again, sounding more confident about it, and a brilliant smile breaks over his features, “I mean, this doesn’t change everything you know. I’m still on call if you need me, but, college.”

Derek makes another abortive half-shrug, half-nod movement, because yes, college. Stiles is going to college, and this is what college-bound high school graduates do. They break up with their high school boyfriends and head for a new life attachment free. Even if said high school boyfriend isn’t a classmate but a twenty-four year old townie who _isn’t_ about to embark on the journey of self-discovery that is Freshman year because he discovered exactly everything he needed to know about himself when he was sixteen.

“Well, this didn’t go quite how I was expecting,” Stiles admits, rubbing a hand over the back of his head, “but the awkwardness level is about par for the course, I would guess. I’m supposed to meet Scott, so, um, I’ll just go, then?”

Stiles gestures towards the trees, and Derek wants to thumb away the sudden quirk of uncertainty at the corner of his mouth. Derek’s not allowed anymore, though, so instead he just stares silently like he hasn’t since Stiles was a sophomore. Stiles makes an annoyed, fond, resigned huffing noise that sounds like “of course,” rolls his eyes, and strolls off into the woods with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

Derek watches him go and doesn’t wonder what the fuck just happened because he saw it coming a year ago. It was inevitable, and it’s the right thing, and Derek is stupid and selfish and single-minded and possessive, but even he saw from the get-go that Stiles was built for more.

This doesn’t stop him from turning up in Stiles’ bedroom the night before he’s due to leave, but that doesn’t make him any less aware of it.

“Oh, uh, hi?” Stiles offers from his desk chair without looking away from his laptop. He gave up being startled by Derek’s door-less entries about midway through Junior year, “What are ya doin’ here, Derek?”

It makes sense that Stiles is confused, seeing as he how he walked forty minutes into the Preserve with Derek a week ago just to break up with him at sunset in what is arguably one of the most romantic spots Beacon Hills can scrounge up.

“I-- ” Derek swallows, because he isn’t actually totally sure how to answer Stiles’ question, “I wanted—Good luck with school, Stiles.”

“Derek,” Stiles sighs, glancing down at the fingers that have come to rest against his cheek of their own accord. He doesn’t turn his face into Derek’s palm to nip at the heel of his hand, just looks at the fingers brushing his skin and then back up at Derek with this look in his eyes like Derek should know better.

Derek _does_ know better, but he isn’t better.

“Fuck, Stiles, don’t go,” Derek grinds out, and he doesn’t move his hand. Stiles goes rigid, mouth drawing tight as his brows crease together and his gaze goes flat.

“No,” Stiles hisses, “You don’t get to do this. We’re done. You need to leave. Right now.”

Derek’s hand disappears from his face so fast it’s like the touch never happened, but Derek doesn’t leave. He sinks into a seat on the foot of Stiles’ bed instead.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles snaps, “I know you know my dad is the Sheriff. I have had a restraining order filed against me, and I know they aren’t all that hard to get. All professional levels of creeperdom aside, this is Not. Okay.”

Derek closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out.

“S’not like that, for us,” he tries, and he can feel Stiles staring at him. He forces his spine to stay straight, fingers splayed out flat and still on his thighs.

“What the hell does that mean? Please, Derek, bestow upon me this apparently pivotal piece of information that you have been keeping from me about how I’m not allowed to break up with you,” Stiles all but growls, and it punches all the air out of Derek’s lungs.

“You are, you are,” he rushes, trying not to trip over the newly acquired lump of flesh in his throat, “I’m just trying—You’re human.”

“Yes.” Stiles has learned to wait him out, of course he has.

“You’re human and you—of course you get to leave, Stiles, I just—we don’t. We don’t, and I didn’t know...” Derek drifts and lets his head bow in the space between one breath and the next. Stiles still doesn’t speak.

“I knew you were going to go. I shouldn’t have done this, but I wanted--  I knew you weren’t going to stay. I thought it would be easier, that I wouldn’t, or couldn’t, that it wouldn’t turn out like this. I shouldn’t have come here; I’ll go,” Derek breaks for the window, but Stiles catches the hem of his jacket and _jerks._

“Ah, no, I don’t think so buddy. You don’t get to do _this_ either, show up here and dump a bunch of poorly executed half-sentences full bullshit on me and then take off out the window. Park your ass and tell me what’s going on,” Stiles demands, tugging Derek back to his seat. Derek yanks his fingers through his hair and huffs a short breath through his nose.

“Things like this, relationships, they don’t get to be casual for wolves,” Derek spits, and Stiles’ eyes narrow even further.

“Who the fuck said it was? When I told you I loved you, I meant it. When I lost my virginity to you, I wasn’t thinking ‘Oh well this looks like the first decent bed I’ve had the opportunity to fall into.’ This was not _casual_ for me, Derek, I don’t go around _casually_ getting my fucking heart broken. I did not _casually_ break up with you. I thought about what it would be like trying to be with you from across the country, only coming home for a few days or weeks every couple of months, and I thought about what it would be like trying to have a life in New York City trying to explain to people I don’t know but would maybe like to be friends with why I have to worry about hanging out in the meat-packing district versus Hell’s Kitchen because the Pack allegiances are shaky and I’m walking around marked by a foreign Alpha. I thought about you coming to visit me in a dorm stinking of other people and quite potentially strange wolves, and what that would to do you. I thought about what it would be like to try having a life outside of all the werewolf stuff for the first time in years, and I thought it might be relaxing. I thought about a lot of fucking things, Derek, and finally I thought about doing something _just_ for myself and it fucking hurt and that’s how I knew I needed to do it. So you don’t get to sit there and tell me that this was _casual_ for me, while you’re having some deep and abiding angst-ridden epic lovestory, all right.”

“It’s only ever going to be you,” Derek mumbles, cowed, and Stiles blinks at him.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s how it works. We... settle on somebody and that’s just it. Wolves are serial monogamists.”

“And we were seriously monogamous for two years. Now we get to get over it, and be seriously monogamous with other people. Or, you do. I get to do whatever I want.”

“Sure,” Derek shrugs, “You do. I get to wait for you to come back, or for you to die. That’s how that works.”

“You mate for _life_?” Stiles squeaks, and Derek shrugs again.

“Not exactly. It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it for me.”

Derek avoids Stiles’ eyes, dragging a hand through his hair and flexing his toes inside his boots until Stiles kicks at his feet. Derek glances up at him and has to stifle the urge to bite through his own tongue.

“If you were gone, really gone, I could- but I probably wouldn’t. Besides that, you aren’t. I can’t- there’s no good way to explain this. Just forget it; you were going to anyway,” Derek makes a break for the window, but Stiles beats him there, nearly topping over the sill in a mad rush to keep Derek from disappearing.

“Don’t be like that, you don’t get to be like this! I-”

“You dumped me. I get to be angry about it.”

“Fine! Then you should’ve been angry about it _somewhere else_! God, Derek, how do you not understand this by now? You can’t just show up in my room the night before I’m supposed to leave for NYU and tell me that you’re going to be _alone forever_ unless you’re with me, which, by the way, is something you neglected to mention in the _two years_ we spent together,” Stiles hisses, shoving at Derek’s shoulders. Derek takes half a step back, like Stiles could make him.

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” Derek manages between clenched teeth, and then chokes out “Kate,” and all the fight goes out of Stiles. He slumps into a perch on the window sill and lets his head fall back against the frame with a crack.

“Jesus, Derek. Tell me,” Stiles waves a tired hand, like he’s resigned to hearing it, like it’s going to hurt him more to listen to it than it’ll hurt Derek to say it.

“I thought I— ”  Derek begins, and then changes his mind, “I was _stupid_ , and didn’t think anything except that being with her was what I was meant for, but—I wasn’t. This, you, I—It’s good, what it’s supposed to be. You’re good, Stiles, and I’m not—I can’t walk away from something that’s _good_ , it doesn’t work that way. For me.”

Derek doesn’t know what the hell else he’s supposed to say, because Stiles is staring at him like there should be more to the story. Stiles has known the whole sordid tale since Junior year though, so this can’t be that confusing. Stiles shakes himself like a dog shedding water and then stands from the sill, moving out of the way of the window.

“You can’t put this on me, Derek, I didn’t ask for this,” Stiles says, a little thickly, “I said it was too much and now it’s so, so beyond too much I don’t even know how to classify it. I can’t handle this. You can’t just—I never asked for this!”

“You didn’t want me to love you,” Derek snaps, and Stiles can’t tell if it’s a question or an accusation.

“O-of course I did, Derek, I—”

“Well, this is what that means, for me to love you. It doesn’t matter  if you can’t _handle it_ , Stiles, because it _is._ I’m not asking you for anything, I don’t really expect for you to stay,” The last part comes out quiet, like Derek doesn't mean for it to escape, “I had to try, but I didn’t expect it.”

“Then why did we do this in the first fucking place, Derek, if it was always going to end like this?” Stiles demands, a lilt of hysteria in his voice.

“I didn’t know that it would. I didn’t think I still could,” Derek shrugs, and says again, “Kate.”

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles mutters, knuckling at one eye and Derek can smell the guilt coming off him like the steady rush of a river much deeper and wider than it seems.

“S’not your fault,” Derek grunts, halfway through the open window and Stiles makes a tight noise of disbelief in the back of his throat. Derek can’t go and hush it, because he’s not allowed and because it is Stiles’ fault. It’s Derek’s fault too, and nobodies at all, and Derek hits the grass below Stiles’ bedroom window and bolts.


End file.
